“I want you — to sleep inside my chest, inside my head, in the scuffed crevice of a spear wound in the center of my heart. I can’t promise you today, but I can promise you tomorrow.”

I tell him, I promise you the future. I promise you tomorrow’s harvest. I promise you a body that refuses to be touched. Unsoiled. Only half rotten. Only half broken.

I promise you immortality. Give me your hand, and I will bury it in mine. Let me pin you down by your wings, grant my words the margin to display you in a glass case with my name under your feet, and listen as the world proclaims us beautiful.

I promise you the moon. I promise to fill your cup — until it overflows, until it starts tasting cherry bitter. Until you grow sick of it. Until it heals your knees.

I promise you the future. Not today. Today’s half gone. Half mine. I promise you the future, for it is all yours.

Chrysalis

2024

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© Rizu Lu

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